And it doesn't end there. Estranged family members are showing up like bad pennies, her precious savings account has been wiped clean, and she may or may not have a stalker.

So what's a desperate girl to do, but try her hand at love?

Retired Navy SEAL Beckett Smith doesn't make mistakes.

Yes, he drinks his way to the bottom of a beer bottle or six, on one too many occasions.

Sure, he's a well educated man who prefers to communicate at a level only slighter higher than your average poodle.

And yeah, he lost his legendary control and slept with his boss's sister, stripping her of more than just her clothes before making a quick getaway. Only it doesn't end there. Isolation isn't providing the peace he's seeking, the boss he considers a friend is ready to hand him a beat down and a pink slip, and the girl he can't stop thinking about is suddenly parked on his doorstep.

My love for steamy romance began when I was in junior high. A friend and I came upon a dumpster of discarded paperbacks behind our small town's Ben Franklin store. The covers were missing and each book was torn in two, split right down the center of the spline, but I found that to be no obstacle as I scanned each page looking for any love or lust words—and curse words, too. It wasn't long before I was scouring the public library and our local discount store, devouring anything labeled romance. I said a tearfully grateful goodbye to Judy Bloom as Jackie Collins began ruling my world.

I live with my high school sweetheart turned husband and our three, beloved DVR's, in the desert Southwest. Otherwise known as the surface of the sun during the summer months.

My life long goals are to think before I speak, smile more and swear less, and actually weigh what my driver's license states I do. And I have been contemplating a hair color change for the last decade. I'm thinking red.